


You can’t keep everything inside

by Rillion



Series: Mindgames [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: African Dream Root, Aftermath of Possession, Aftermath of a Case, Angelic Possession, Archangels, Case Fic, Dream Bubbles, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Possession, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Michael!Dean, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rillion/pseuds/Rillion
Summary: After Sam and the others are able to rescue Dean from Michael, Sam thinks a solo hunt for just the both of them would do them some good. Just him and Dean, like in old times. A bit of normal.What intended to be a easy salt-and-burn turns into a emotional journey for both. Dean gets trapped in his own mind in a comatose state and is forced to undergo the the tortures of Michaels possession again. Sam has to find a way to rescue him from himself.





	You can’t keep everything inside

It had taken a lot of effort and a lot of work to get Dean back, but they had done it.  
Now, Dean is sleeping in his bed. Still fully clothed. Sam decides to leave him to it, as he stands in the doorframe, just genuinely happy to have his brother back.  
The younger actually gave up on hope for some time during the search for rescue. Sam had been tired and exhausted from managing everything. He had to calm the guys down, that wanted to kill Michael and also search for a way to free his brother from the possession of the angel. It hasn’t been an easy task. But in the end, it worked out. Dean is back. That’s all that matters.

In the following days, they try to start slowly again. Sam notices how Dean needs longer to react, that he is lost in his head more often than not. Of course, his brother tries to hide it, but Sam sees how the possession affects him. Sam knows better than anyone else how something like this can affect you. So, he tries some decent things to get started again. Or maybe even get Dean to talk about it.  
“You up for a hunt?”, Sam asks Dean on the breakfast table.  
“What, like a normal hunt? A salt n’ burn and get out?”, Dean says, wondering.  
“Yeah. Just a basic, normal hunt. Just you and me”, Sam confirms.  
“So the kid’s not coming? Or Cas? Or mom?” Dean speaks with his mouth full. Not an uncommon sight for Sam, but where normally would have been complaints, he just smiles gently.  
“No. Only us.”  
Dean nods. “So what do you got?”  
Sam turns his laptop around.  
“Haunting, town in Colorado, old house. Witnesses have been reporting flickering lights, change in temperature and one victim confessed to have re-lived his worst memory, according to him. He also said he saw a grey figure of a man before having this experience”, Sam explains.  
“So you think ghost possession?”, Dean implies.  
“That, or it uses some other kind of mojo.”  
Dean nods.  
“You wanna check it out?”, Sam asks.  
“Hell yes.” His brother smiles.  
A bit of normalcy would do them good. Well, as normal as this can be, but it is in the life of a Winchester. Sam is glad he found the case.

“What’s the name of the victim?”  
“Charles Ward, 33 years old, not married, no kids, works as a manager, says to have experienced the day of his graduation, which, according to him, is the worst day of his life”, Sam answers, reading from his phone.  
“Why? Because he didn’t get a girl?”, Dean mutters.  
“Don’t know. Let’s ask him.”

“Mr. Ward? I’m agent Cave, this is my partner agent Bloom. We’re here to investigate your unusual experience”, Dean introduced them, both holding up their fake badges.  
“Oh no, not again”, the man exclaims. Sam and Dean share a knowing look.  
Not much later, they are sitting in a barely decorated room. Boxes are stuffed in the corners and the walls are painted in a plain white. Though, the house seems old, it is not big. One floor only and 4 rooms. All in the same plain white.  
“So what exactly happened when you experienced the... incident”, Sam asks and Ward sighs.  
“Just moved in. My third night here. I got home late from a- from a date. Then I went into the bathroom and this guy appears in the mirror. I turn around and he’s gone.”  
“Can you describe what he looked like?”, Sam continues.  
“Tall. But I didn’t see his face, the mirror was all blurry, because I took a shower”, the guy says.  
“What did you do then?”  
“I ran, what else. Into my bedroom. And then called 911.”  
“You said you noticed a sudden change of temperature”, Dean asks now in between.  
“Yeah. It was freezing. In my bedroom, it was so cold that my windows began to freeze over.”  
“And what happened then?”  
“Then I passed out. Woke up in the hospital afterwards. Was down for a day. And had the worst dream ever.”  
“We heard about that yeah.” Sam smiles in sympathy.  
“Did you happen to notice something entering your body? You know, injection, gas, something?” Dean tries to make the question as plausible as possible.  
“No. Not that, but before I passed out it felt like something threw itself onto me. Like the guy attacked me”, Ward describes.  
Sam and Dean exchange a look that said: “Definitely ghost possession.”  
“Why are the feds investigating this?”  
“We think it’s a serial offender. We’re suspecting drug usage. Real nasty.” Dean’s little story seems plausible enough. Sam nods.  
“Right.”  
“Have there been more incidents?”, Charles asks interested and maybe a bit relieved.  
“Yeah. Definitely.” Dean nods frantically. Very convincing, Sam thinks and rolls his eyes. He stops abruptly when Dean adds:  
“That’s why I came here with my partner from the psych department. He will document your experiences.” Followed by a clap on the younger’s shoulder. Sam shoots Dean a look which says, that he is going to kill him later. Then, he collects himself and smiles a forced smile at Ward.  
“Right. It is necessary to catch the suspect.”  
“O-okay then”, Charles Ward stutters and Dean nods in agreement.

“Enjoyed yourself there?” Dean grins as Sam arrives in their motel room.  
“It was horrible. Guy’s story is as boring and pathetic as a teen drama.” Sam loosens his tie. “Why did you do that?”  
“I needed a good excuse for him to tell you the story. Also, you told me you took psychology classes in college”, Dean says while collecting papers in front of him.  
Sam sighs. He did take psychology classes in college, but not for this kind of problem.  
“What did you get?”, Sam asks without carrying on the conversation about psychology.  
“House was built in 1940. Burned down in 1945, then was built again in 1947. Original owner was a guy named Jaden William Lambert, died in the fire”, Dean reads out with eyes on his papers.  
“You think it’s him?” Sam sits down on his bed.  
“Not likely. Fella burnt down down to the bones. Also, the hauntings just started in the late 1980’s.”  
“Any other ideas?”  
“List of the owners.” Dean holds up a paper. “Underlined the ones that died there. And are a guy.”  
“Many deaths for roughly seventy years of housing”, Sam suspects, inspecting the list.  
“That’s what I think too.”  
“Have the previous hauntings been similar to this one?”, Sam asks further.  
“There isn’t much on that, but one documented case said, that the victim saw a tall man, with a beard, in a suit.”  
“Fits the tall man profile”, Sam notes and Dean nods. “Did anybody die there after 1980?”  
“Yeah. 3 people. All of dehydration or starvation, because they slept the whole time.” Dean makes a face.  
“So, the same as Charles only that no one found them”, Sam ascertains.  
His brother nods.  
“That means, the ghosts is possessing them, roams around in their head and digs up bad memories?”, Sam summarises.  
“That’s what it looks like”, Dean agrees, continuing to nod.  
“Then we have to make sure Charles is protected and find out who the spirit is. Quick.” Sam looks at his brother, who seems to be thinking the same thing. They shake their fists in a game of rock-paper-scissors. Dean seems to be working hard in his head and Sam smiles at his brothers concentration in the game, before he throws rock. Dean, unfortunately and expectedly, throws scissors.  
“God damn it!”, the older exclaims and Sam can’t help but laugh.  
“It’s revenge for me having to psychoanalyse him”, he smiles.  
Dean mumbles unintelligible words but settles for a: “All right, I’ll watch him tonight, but first we’re going to the hospital to ask about him there.”  
“As you wish”, Sam chuckles and follows his brother out the door.

“What was Mr. Ward’s condition when he arrived here?”  
The brothers arrive at the hospital a few moments later and set out to talk to Ward’s doctor. She is a small woman with dark skin and extremely short hair. Her hands are put on her hips and her Snow White coat formed a huge contrast to her skin.  
“He was in a coma”, she answers Sam’s question.  
“Could you tell why?”, Sam asks. He and Dean hadn’t changed their aliases and were still the FBI agents Cave and Bloom.  
“No. We couldn’t find a reason. His vitals were as okay as they could be after passing out like that.” The doctor -her name is McCarthy- shakes her head at the phenomenon of Charles Ward’s case.  
“Have there been more incidents like this?”, Dean asks now.  
“Not since I work here, and that have been over 5 years now.” Doctor McCarthy shrugs.  
“What made him wake up again?“ Sam’s voice is curious.  
“I don’t know”, she replies honest.  
“Can you tell us who found him?” Sam and Dean speak alternately.  
“A man named Arthur Gillan. He called.”  
“Okay. Thanks for you time.” Sam dismisses them with a thankful gesture and a nod. Dean nods too, so does Doctor McCarthy. Then, they are leaving.  
As they sit in the car, Dean asks Sam: “So what do you say? Wanna check out this Gillan guy?”  
“There are never enough clues Dean”, Sam responds.  
“True that”, Dean agrees and starts the engine.

The address of Arthur Gillan was easily found and not much later, Sam and his brother find themselves on a couch, once again, to question the guy.  
“I found him in his bedroom. Next to the bed, looked like he came right out of the shower. I tried waking him up. When it didn’t work, I called 911”, Gillan explains and Sam nods.  
“Why were you there in the first place?“, Dean asks directly.  
“He forgot his wallet. I didn’t reach him on his phone, so I brought it to him. When no one opened as I rang the bell, I noticed the door wasn’t locked. I got in and yelled for Charles, but he didn’t answer. So, I looked around and finally found him... there.”  
“So you were with him on that night?”, Sam concludes and raises his eyebrows.  
“Yeah. We were on a date”, Gillan answers quietly. Sam makes a knowing face and watches Dean’s eyebrows shoot up a bit, but not much.  
“What made him leave his wallet?”, his brother asks.  
“The evening didn’t end like Charles would have liked. It didn’t work out between us, so I was honest to him. He seemed sad, but accepted my decision. He was pretty fazed by it though, so he forgot his wallet”, Gillan explains, a bit of shame in his voice.  
“So, Mr. Ward was upset about the outcome of your evening?”, Sam clarifies.  
“Yes. And I’m really sorry. I kinda feel like I’m to blame for his coma. God knows what would be if I hadn’t found him and he didn’t wake up”, Gillan says. Sam notices the guy really seemed to mean it and nods in sympathy.  
“It’s not your fault Mr. Gillan.”  
Dean clears his throat and ends the visit with a: “Alright. Thank you for your time. That was really helpful.” and stands up. Sam follows his brother in little time and they drive back to the motel.

“Is there anything on the other victims?” There had to be a connection between the victims and Sam was gonna find it. He and Dean both searched for things that may have a saying in the ghosts choice of victims, or his time to attack, other than them living in that house.  
“Checked the newspaper, turns out all of them have been in great emotional distress before they were attacked. One was in a financial crisis, the other one lost his wife...”  
“... Charles was rejected on a date he probably really liked”, Sam finished.  
“Exactly.” Dean nods. “‘Ghost is like a freaking banshee.”  
“Huh.” Sam cocks an eyebrow. “I guess all there is to find out now is, who the ghost is.”  
“Yeah. You do that. I’ll go and put Ward under special protection.” Dean already begins packing his duffel bag with all there is to a ghost hunt. Salt, iron, salt rounds, shotgun. But Sam holds his brother back and looks at him with concerned features.  
“You really think this is a good idea?”, he starts, “You being there after we know what the ghosts criteria to attack is?”  
They both have been through much these past month, but Dean clearly is more vulnerable.  
His brother stops his packing for a moment. “I can handle it”, he states.  
“Dean, this isn’t about you playing strong-“  
“Sam, it’s okay”, Dean says in a gruff voice, emphasis on the word ‘okay’.  
“All I’m saying is that I know how I felt after something like that”, he says, concerned about his brother.  
“Sam, I can handle it!” The older drops the duffel bag on the floor, angry.  
Sam jerks back. He then sighs and raises his hands to surrender.  
“Okay.”  
The taller doesn’t approve with the situation, but he can’t do anything about it now. The last thing he wants is a fight. He would just have to salt and burn the guy before he could do anything to harm Dean.

While Sam is searching for the ghost responsible for all this , Dean arrives at Ward’s house under the cover of a suspected return of the culprit. Ward was a bit taken aback and sceptical, but let him in eventually.  
It is already late afternoon when Ward moves to go to bed and Dean stays in the living room. Presently, it seems to be quiet, but Dean doesn’t let his guard down for one moment. The shotgun is right beside him and he laid out salt in front of Ward’s door, after he made sure he was asleep. Not that it would do much good, but it is something at least.  
Now, Dean is just staring; the same way Sam has noticed the whole time. It’s hard to guess what is going through his head in these moments, but it isn’t something pleasant. He is just staring with that look in his eyes, that scream for help.  
Dean probably doesn’t admit it to himself, but he is wrecked. Drained and strained from Michaels possession. One could see it if they knew. Sam could see it.  
Speaking of Sam, he has a good lead. He just needs a few confirmations. Then he would torch the sucker and no harm will be done anymore. But the world isn’t that easy.  
Lights begin to flicker and Dean grabs his shotgun. He stands up and looks in every direction, shotgun raised and ready to shoot at anything that moves. In addition to Ward’s bedroom door, the hunter had also laid out a circle of sand around the couch he has been sitting on.  
Dean sees a figure manifesting. Tall with a suit and a tie. He couldn’t quite make out his face yet, but that doesn’t let him hesitate.  
“Take this Slenderman”, Dean says, right before he fires. The ghost vanishes for the moment, but the shot woke up Ward, who stumbles into the living room, confused, tripping over many things.  
“What was that?”, he asks shivering. Dean sighs and responds:  
“Get back in your room, close the door, put salt in front of every opening you have in there and don’t come out.”  
Dean hands the victim a bag of salt.  
“Why the salt?”  
“Just do it, okay?!”  
Ward nods startled, but does as Dean said.  
The hunter raises his shotgun again, but nothing is heard. Dean narrows his eyes. That is suspicious. He turns around and - THERE!  
Dean shoots but the ghost disappears before the salt hits him. The hunter notices a hole in the salt circle. Ward must have made it while stumbling around. It has to be fixed. Quick.  
Dean grabs some salt to close the circle again, but something holds him back. He begins feels tired, sick, like fainting.  
“Oh no.”  
A darkness takes over and Dean falls to the floor.

Sam did it. He collected enough evidence for burning a body and he is pretty sure it was the right one. A man named Guy Kelley. Died in the house in 1979, because he passed out and no one found him. He had a criminal record and a pretty rough life, according to Sam’s research. He was bearded, tall and wore a suit when he died. All in all, it seems obvious. This is their guy.  
The sun begins to rise when Sam makes his way to the former haunted place. The orange colour of the sun is overwritten by the blue light of an ambulance standing in front of it. Panic creeps up Sam’s spine and his hackles raise. A shiver runs through him. He gets out of the Impala and starts running towards the scene. He sees Ward, but not Dean.  
“What happened?”, he asks breathless, holding up his FBI badge.  
“Agent Bloom?” Ward looks up.  
“Where is Dean?” His voice is rough. Ward, who is wrapped in a blanket, jerks back.  
“Agent Cave is there”, the man stutters, finger pointing in the direction of the ambulance.  
“Oh no.”  
Sam fights his way through the people standing around the flashing car, his fake badge on display the whole time. A thousand thoughts run a marathon in his head. Then, he finally gets a look on his brother. Dean is on a stretcher and is currently being lifted into the back of the ambulance.  
“Hey! FBI!” Sam gets them to stop. “That’s my partner. What’s wrong with him?”  
An ambulance guy shrugs. “Acute coma. Cause unknown. No external injuries.”  
Sam swallows. How can that be? He burnt the spirit. Was it the false one after all?  
“Drive him to the hospital. I’ll follow”, Sam orders and the ambulance staff nods; but before he drives after them, Sam needs some confirmation. Again, he heads for Ward. The Winchester has to look scary with his determined, fierce face and walk, additional to his exceeding height. Ward seems to become smaller and smaller under Sam’s gaze.  
“Listen. You need to tell me EXACTLY what you saw.”  
Ward tells him about the shotgun and the salt.  
“And then? What happened then?” The distance between Sam and Charles Ward becomes increasingly smaller.  
“When I didn’t hear anything for a while, I got out of my room. And then I saw him lying there. ‘Tried to wake him. And then-“ Ward shakes his head.  
“And then what?”, Sam presses him.  
“Then it seemed like he began glowing and then another figure, which was like... made out of fog, rose from his body and burnt in the air. It’s ridiculous. Must’ve been the shock.”  
When Ward looks up again, Sam is already on his way to the Impala. So, he had burned the right ghost, but why was Dean still in a coma then? Why doesn’t he wake up? Sam has to find out. Quick.

“I don’t get it. His vitals are okay, there is no sign of a trauma or an injury. Blood tests will say if he was exposed to any drugs or if has an illness that could lead to this, but I honestly don’t believe in it. He wouldn’t be working with you guys if he had.” Doctor McCarthy shakes her head.  
“Is there any sign of him waking up soon?”, Sam asks worried.  
“Since I can’t say what the reason for the coma is, I don’t have an answer for that. He is stable and in good form and Charles Ward woke up in a day, but I can’t guarantee it.”  
Sam sighs and roams his hands over his face. The doctor places a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture and smiles up at him. “He seems important to you.”  
Sam let’s out a desperate laugh. “Yeah he’s- he’s like my brother.”  
“Worked together for long?”  
“Since forever.”  
Sam’s gaze wanders past the dark skinned woman to his brother.  
“I’ll leave you alone then”, McCarthy says in a soft manner and leaves the room.  
Sam let’s himself fall on the chair next to the bed.  
“What’s wrong with you Dean?”, he asks, “Why don’t you wake up?”

Sam waits to the next afternoon, until he decides it’s enough. No more waiting, he has got to do something.  
He starts making theory’s, identifying as much of the problem as he can.  
Maybe the ghost wired something in Deans brain to keep him low, as last act of his existence. Maybe, Dean’s dream is too long and still plays after the ghost left (god knows, he has enough material). Or maybe, it has something to do with the possession.  
Sam calls his mom. He didn’t reach Cas, so his next call goes to Mary. Turns out Cas took out Jack with him in a trip and has yet to come back.  
Mary is worried about the news and immediately packs her bag to drive to them.  
“You think Dean is dreaming the whole time?” Mary recalls what Sam told her.  
“Yes. Probably. But I don’t know what I can do about it.”  
“Is there a way to enter his head?”, she wonders.  
“I don’t know, Cas may be-“  
And then, it hit him.  
“Mom, can you take something with you when you come here?”  
“Like what?”  
“African Dream Root.”

Soon after Mary arrives, Sam is brewing the disgusting tea-like drink out of the Dream Root. Mary watches him, fascinated and also confused.  
“Excuse me asking, but what does this induce again?”, she asks.  
“This way, I can enter his dream, and hopefully, guide him out. I guess he is trapped inside his own head and doesn’t find the exit, or doesn’t even know it. So, I gotta show him.” Sam doesn’t look up while explaining the procedure. He feels a bit like a witch, preparing the potion like that. Sam quickly abandons the thought. No witches.  
“And now, the final ingredient”, the younger says, walking over to the still sleeping Dean and rips out some of his hair.  
“What was that for?”, Mary questions Sam.  
“So I can get into his dream in particular. Without that, I could be landing in the head of someone across the world. Or worse: end up like him.” Sam nods in Deans direction and pours the short hair into the cup with the Dream Root-tea.  
“Are you sure about this Sam?”, Mary asks concerned.  
“It’s the only way”, Sam answers determined.  
“But what if something happens?”  
“Try to reach Cas. He’ll know. He can help”, Sam assured his mom and smiles softly at here. “But I gotta do this now. We don’t know when it’ll be too late.”  
“If it’s dangerous, maybe I should go.” The whole thing seems to give Mary the creeps.  
“I doubt he would want you in his head. He will already be pissed with me roaming around in there.” Sam stirs the drink. “And, no offence mom, but I know him better than you ever will.“  
Mary nods sighing.  
“Plus, I know what it’s like to be possessed by an angel. I know it too well. And if that is the cause of Dean’s state, I will deal with it. I will show him how to deal with it”, Sam ads. “I’ll get him out of there mom. You just have to watch out for him here.”  
Sam takes the drink and starts walking out the door. “I’ll be in the car.” It would have been odd if he would lay in the empty hospital bed in Deans room. The doctors might question it.  
Once in the Impala, Sam chugs down the disgusting liquid and leans back. He winces at the taste. It has been a while since they had done this. African Dream Root.  
As sleep overwhelms him, Sam sets his every core to one task: saving Dean.  
He just got his brother back, he won’t loose him again.

When Sam opens his eyes, after what feels like only one second, he is standing in a hallway. It is decorated in decent colours and looks a bit like one of the long hallways in the bunker, only nicer, more personal.  
He looks around. There are some pictures on the walls and doors leading to different rooms. Stepping closer to one picture, Sam notices it’s one of those Dean keeps in his room. It shows him and Dean. The other pictures as well are those in Deans possession. These few pictures they had, that meant something to them.  
Sam turns around and goes to the middle of the hallway. “Dean?”  
There is no answer.  
Sam bites his lip and wanders to one of the doors. There is no number on it or anything that would deviate it from the other doors. Hesitantly, Sam knocks. When no one answers, he pushes down the door handle. A faint click is heard.  
“Dean?”, Sam tries again, wary.  
He steps inside. When his feet touch the ground, it is as if every matter just vanishes around him. There is nothing and yet, everything. Pictures are flashing before the hunter’s eyes. Sam can’t get a hold of them, even though he tries. He sees blood and fire, violence and sorrow, helplessness and fear, guilt and anger. Everything is flashing through his head. Are these- are these Deans memories?  
“Dean!”, Sam exclaims, “Dean where are you?”  
His hands wander to his temples. He is trying to stop the flood of pictures in his head, for they hurt in his head. It doesn’t work.  
He starts hearing things, indistinct voices, cries, he even hears his own voice sometimes. These are ugly tunes. No good noises.  
“Sam!”, it resonates.  
“Dean!”, Sam replies, but doesn’t get an answer. The scream must have come from the memories too.  
The Winchester succeeds in finding solid ground again. He doesn’t know how he did it, but he is able to walk now. Straight forward. Though, this was as difficult as walking through a hurricane. The pictures are like a storm. Fierce, strong and angry. They make Sam dizzy, give him a stinging headache as they run through him. The feelings they make him feel, it feels like they are tearing him apart and Sam has to give everything to hold himself together.  
The hunter defies the storm of bad memories, of emotions. He steps forward, with closed eyes.  
“Dean!”, he repeats, “Come on Dean!”  
Then, screams. Screams are heard, different than the other hundreds of screams echoing in his brain; and Sam just knows they are not inside his head.  
He fights forward and they become louder and louder. It’s Dean, Sam can hear it. It’s Dean and Sam almost can’t bear it. He doesn’t want to hear Dean like this.  
“Hold on!”, he yells back at his brother. “Hold on, Dean!”  
With a lot of effort, Sam opens his eyes. The memories are still flashing through him, but he can make out a figure cowering on the floor, only a few feet away from.  
“DEAN!”  
The younger reaches out and tries to get closer to his brother. “I’m here Dean!”  
A few steps, it’s nearly done. Just a few more steps forward. One hand is almost able to touch his brother. Sam gives it all his strength. A bit, only a little bit. THERE! But no.  
Just when Sam is near enough to reach Dean, everything stops. The force of the memories vanishes into thin air, and so does Dean. Sam falls on the floor of the, now empty, room. Face flat and painful. He gasps for air, as if he hadn’t been able to breath since he entered. His eyes are wide open, his heart is nearly hopping out of his chest, and his head is numb from everything, that screamed in there.  
If that is inside Dean’s mind, and that doesn’t seem to be the only thing -hence the other doors-, Sam has to get his brother free quick. That just now, was horrifying.

Sam stumbles into the hallway again, to the door opposite to the one he just came out of. He hesitates for a short moment, but enters anyway.  
Again, there is something flashing through his head, but not like before. It’s one thing only, but it comes so forceful, it hits Sam like a truck. He goes to his knees.  
What he saw could be described as an alternative outcome of Michaels possession. It ended with both, Dean and Michael, dead. Sam gasps. His breath is caught in his throat again.  
“That didn’t happen”, he says, breathing heavily, “I fixed it. I found a way.”  
Sam got himself off the ground and looks around. It’s Dean’s room. Dean’s room in the bunker. And in the middle of it, Dean himself.  
Sam smiles relieved. “Dean!”  
His brother looks up, but not in Sam’s direction.  
“Guess it had to be that way.”  
Sam is confused by his bothers muttering.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Me. Dead.”  
Dean nods to the bed on which’s foot he is sitting. Sam follows and sees a body lying there. Dean’s body. He swallows and tears his look away. Sam doesn’t want to see it. The hunter sighs with closed eyes.  
“Dean, you aren’t dead.”  
“Well, pretty much looks like it.” His brother doesn’t waste a look on Sam.  
“You’re dreaming all of this.” Sam closes the distance a bit. “I found a way.”  
“I don’t believe you.”  
“Why not?”, Sam asks, volume low.  
“Because I’ve just made my peace with this.”  
Sam stumbles. “What?”  
“I made the mess, I’ve gotta clean it up right? I’ve made a whole lotta messes. I guess the least I could do is take the bastard with me. Saved the world a lot of trouble. Saved you a lot of trouble.”  
Dean stares at the door and the wall in front of him. He says these words in such a careless manner, so easy, it makes Sam angry.  
“I told you, I found another way. This is a dream Dean. I don’t know what exactly you experienced while Michael possessed you, but I guess he made you believe that. Hear me out: it’s not true!”, Sam says.  
“But is that ‘other way’ as effective as this one?”  
It surprises Sam how calm Dean is and it also scares him. It’s not right. Dean is not right.  
Naturally, Sam says: “You live. So, yes.”  
“And what changes that? What does this fact make better?”  
Sam can’t believe his ears. Never, never he wanted to hear such words out of his brothers mouth.  
Sam wants to shout and be angry at Dean, but his thoughts wander and he realises, that he had said words with that kind of impact himself. The trials. The time after the trials. And Sam now knows what it must have felt like for Dean to hear such words. So, Sam calms himself down.  
“We had that conversation once and you in particular shouldn’t talk like that.”  
“Changed my mind”, Dean says. Sam clenches his fists.  
“You wanna know who your life is important to? Then listen”, Sam begins, “To me, to Cas, to mom. To the people you have saved and will save.”  
For the first time since he entered this room, his brother looks in his direction.  
“So this is all a dream huh?”, the older says and walks over to Sam.  
“Yes.”  
“Then that means I can’t trust you”, Dean concludes and comes to hold in front of Sam; who, in response, shakes his head, confused.  
“Why not?”  
“Because that means you are a fragment of my imagination. And I don’t trust myself.”  
Dean turns away.  
“Stop!”  
Sam reaches out to hold Dean back, but, as in the previous room, his brother vanishes just before Sam was able to touch him.  
“Shit”, Sam whispers.

The younger Winchester, rash as ever, breaks out of the door and goes straight to the next one, that catches his eye. With a huff, he braces himself, before entering without another thought. He has to get Dean out of here.  
This time, entering the room doesn’t trigger any kind of memory flash, like the ones before. Sam is surprised and opens his eyes, which he pressed shut in order not to be too overwhelmed.  
The hunter looks around. There are papers everywhere. On the walls, on the furniture, desk, bed, floor. It looks like a hunter is working a difficult case with very much reference and information. So much, they don’t know where to put it. Red strings are spun between them, connecting the evidence, which belongs together.  
Sam’s fingers follow one of the stings absentmindedly, as he steps closer to examining it. The contents of the papers aren’t evidence for a case. They are quotes. Hundreds of quotes. Sam scans through them. They aren’t special in any way, nor does he see any deeper sense behind them. He furrows his brows. What does this mean?  
Sam moves to touch one of the paper snippets. When he touches it, he jerks back his hand, as if the paper burnt him. A voice echoes through his head –which sounds kind of like Castiel, but Sam isn’t sure– reciting the quote on the paper. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”  
Sam shakes his head to get rid of the words, although he moves to the next one quickly.  
“You’re just a sad, lonely little kid.”  
The hunter doesn’t recognise this voice. It belongs to a woman, but he never heard it before, so he moves on. Next snippet.  
“I’m not pathetic, like you.” That is him. It’s Sam’s voice. When did I say that?, Sam wonders, while moving on to the next quote, touching it.  
“You carry all kinds of crap you don’t have to, Dean.”  
Jo. That is Jo. And it’s directed at Dean.  
Sam goes further. It’s a whole page this time, not just snippets. He doesn’t read first, he just touches it.  
“About how we’re not supposed to be brothers? No, don’t flatter yourself, I don’t break that easy.”  
“Good, ‘cause I was just being honest.”  
A dialogue. A conversation between him and Dean. Something stung in Sam’s chest, but it didn’t end there.  
“And that’s the problem. You think you’re my saviour, my brother, the hero.”  
“You’ve convinced yourself you’re doing more good than bad, but you’re not.”  
“You didn’t save me, for ‘me’. You did it for you.”  
“You can’t stand the thought of being alone!”  
“You’d do the same thing!”  
“No Dean, I wouldn’t.”  
Sam flinches at every word. Never, never he would forgive himself for saying those words. Never he would forgive himself for letting Dean die, with thoughts like this in his head. These few years ago, when the trials nearly killed Sam. This time had been hard time for both of the brothers, but it didn’t excuse this.  
The hunter feels an overwhelming kind of sadness and confusion; the stinging in his chest grows bigger and he has trouble breathing.  
All these quotes, all these conversations, they are directed at Dean. And all of them seem to mean something to his brother, but not in a pleasant way. No, they all seem to hurt him. Are these Dean’s feelings Sam is feeling? The pain all these words caused his brother. Sam had no idea. He had no idea that Dean stores them all, piling them up until they are pillars, reaching up to the ceiling.  
“All of them are right, you know?”  
Sam jerks around.  
“What you said, what Cas said, Jo, even dad. Everything in here.”  
“Dean”, Sam says, quiet, merely a huff.  
“All this, it’s pathetic.” Dean gestures at his surroundings. Sam swallows.  
“I taught you, that you shouldn’t listen to what others say, but seems like I do.” His brother laughs with sarcasm. “I convince myself I don’t, but I do that with a lot of things.”  
“It’s not pathetic, Dean. It’s not”, Sam says and he means it. There is no shame in this. It is just sad his brother has to deal with this and on top of that, also thinks it is pathetic.  
“It’s not? This whole room is me, whining over simple words and feeling sorry for myself. It’s weak. Like I’m begging for pity.”  
There is disgust in Deans voice. Disgust directed for himself. Sam hates to hear it.  
“You are not weak. Dean, you are one of the bravest people know.”  
Dean scoffs.  
“Look around! Don’t you see how screwed up this is?”  
“And I’m not? Be honest, who do you know, that isn’t at least a bit screwed up?”  
Sam is louder now. He won’t tolerate an argumentation like Dean’s. “It’s okay to be. ‘Would be a miracle if we weren’t.”  
His brother shakes his head.  
“No. Because I keep hurting people with it.”  
“And I don’t?” Sam says, getting angry. “I feel like half of these quotes on me.”  
“I don’t blame you. They are right.”  
“No, they are not”, Sam demands. “Why do you think that what you are feeling is not important? Why do you think YOU are not important?”  
Sam is breathing hard. He stares at Dean, serious eyes not leaving his brother. He means it. Every bit of it. And he won’t tolerate his brother feeling that way about himself. Dean doesn’t deserve it.  
“Why?”, Sam repeats in a calmer voice.  
Dean wanders to a wall, rips off one of the papers and smacks it to Sam’s chest while passing him.  
“Because inside, you are already dead”, it echoes through his head.  
Sam sighs with closed eyes. Dean really does believe that. He really does. And it hurts the younger to know that.  
When Sam turns around to face his brother, he is gone. The younger crumpled the paper in his hand and tosses it in some corner of the room.  
“Sorry. Doesn’t count”, he murmurs. He won’t take that for an answer.

Room after room he enters, every time overwhelmed by the feelings they radiate. Every one of them, a different mess of emotion. Be it fear or anger, sorrow or guilt. They were all connected. Bad memories. Trauma. Regrets. Yearnings. Sam himself. John. And Michael. All of these things were in this hallway, behind those doors, interconnected inside Dean’s mind.  
It feels wrong to open all those doors, to see Dean’s every insecurity, that seemed to be brought to the light due Michael’s possession. Every forgotten memory, every long buried feeling. It’s all new now and Sam is sorry, so sorry; but he has to invade all these rooms, or else Dean won’t wake up.  
It takes all Sam’s courage to open the last door. He stands in front of it a long time. What if he doesn’t find Dean, the real Dean, the trapped Dean? What if he can’t convince him to wake up? Sam takes a few deep breaths. No, no doubts. There is no place for doubts now.  
Click. And the door opens.  
Sam is hit by a feeling, that is comparable to strong homesickness, accompanied by a cold and clenching loneliness, that makes him shiver. It wraps around him like an ice cold blanket of darkness and creeps into his chest, where it settles around his heart. Sam tenses.  
The room is all black. If it even is a room, because there seems to be no end to it.  
“Dean!”  
There is no answer.  
Sam tries to shake away the feeling, the cold, and moves. He wanders in some direction. He doesn’t know which one or if he is even on a steady path.  
“Dean!”, Sam calls again.  
Further and further the hunter goes. The door, through which he came, long left behind. Why is this space so wide? What is it anyway? These question run through Sam’s head. There is nothing in here.  
“There’s gotta be something”, Sam says, nothing more like a murmur under his breath. “What is this void, Dean?”  
On and on Sam goes. It seems, the further he goes, the heavier the cold gets. He feels like he has a big weight in his chest. So much, that he slightly bends down.  
“Come on Dean, where are you”, Sam chants through gritted teeth. “Come on man.”  
As if his prayers have been heard, the Winchester sees something in the distance. Or rather, someone.  
Sam’s steps grow faster. Not much ahead of him now, stands Dean, his back facing Sam.  
“Dean.” Sam lets out a relieved huff. His brother doesn’t react.  
“Dean, it’s me.”  
Sam touches Dean’s shoulder in a gentle gesture and is glad, when he doesn’t vanish at the touch. The other had in all the other rooms.  
His brother still hasn’t moved.  
Sam walks around him, facing him.  
“Look at me”, he says, soft but not less demanding. Dean’s eyes move – it’s the maximum effort he puts into Sam’s order– and looks at Sam. Not fully, but it is something.  
“Dean, you are dreaming”, Sam begins, “You’ve got to wake up.”  
Dean’s eyes move back to the abyss of blackness, and then again to Sam.  
“I’m dreaming?”, his brother says, faint like a whisper.  
“Yes. You are dreaming. And I’m here to get you out.” Sam grips Dean’s other shoulder and looks at him even more intensely.  
“You are not part of my dream?”, Dean asks, ever so faint. His voice sounds like he hasn’t talked in weeks and his eyes are empty. His mannerism is slow. In fact, Dean looks like he doesn’t believe in anything, doesn’t care about anything, doesn’t do anything. He looks robbed of his will and drained to the very last drop. He looks dead.  
“No I’m not. I’m real. And I’m here.” Sam intensifies his grip on Dean’s shoulders. The other is looking away again.  
“Does it matter?”, he says.  
“Yes. It matters the world.” And silently, Sam adds: “To me.”  
Dean looks around.  
“I don’t want to be alone anymore”, it escapes his brother, finally some sound in his voice, even when hoarse and gruff, “I- I-“  
“You won’t be. You just have to wake up.” Sam nods encouraging, his grip on Dean’s shoulders still tight.  
“How am I gonna do that?”, Dean asks, a faint mumble.  
“It’s your dream and you are in control”, Sam says to his brother.  
“No I’m not”, the other says, “He is.”  
The older’s gaze falls to the ground.  
“Who, Michael? No Dean, he is gone”, Sam assures him.  
“Then why’m I still here?” Dean continues mumbling.  
“Because”, Sam says, repeating “You are dreaming.”  
“I can’t stop. How do I stop this?”  
“I-“ Sam licks his lips. “I g- I guess you gotta let go of what’s holding you here.”  
Dean replies with a helpless look.  
“What is holding you here?”, Sam asks, now being specific.  
“Everything.” Dean answers with a breaking Voice and a single tear slipping out of his right eye.  
“Then you gotta let it go.” Sam wraps his arms around his brother. “Just for one moment, let it go.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Just for one little moment.” The younger tightens the embrace and presses his eyes shut. He feels something around them is changing, but he just concentrates on the hug he is close to strangling Dean with.  
Please wake up, he begs, Please.

With a gasp, Sam wakes up from his sleep. He moves one hand to rub his neck, stiff from the Impala’s seats. It is morning; the hunter could tell by the rising sun and the light pink sky.  
He wastes no time. Immediately, he is out of the car and inside the hospital. Dean’s room is not far from the entrance, so it takes less than a minute to arrive there. Mary jerks when the door is ripped open by her youngest son. She sits by Dean’s bed and reads, one hand on his.  
Sam walks straight to Dean’s bed. He doesn’t seem conscious yet.  
“Come on. Wake up”, Sam says.  
“What happened?”, Mary asks, but Sam gives her no answer.  
“Come on Dean.”  
With a nearly invisible flutter, Dean opens his eyelids a slit. Sam feels like the weight of the whole world leaves his heart at that moment. He can finally breath again.  
“Welcome back!”, he says, happy and relieved, oh so relieved. “I thought I lost you there for a second.”  
Dean groans. His hands move to rub over his face. When he notices all the tubes and the wires connected to him, he rips them off one by one.  
“Hey, take it easy”, Sam warns his brother.  
Dean sits up and scans the surrounding.  
“Mom? What are you doing here?”  
Mary smiles and gently caresses Dean’s arm.  
“You expect me to stay home when you get yourself in trouble?”  
“How long was I out?”  
“A day. Circa”, Sam answers his brother.  
“And how long were you-“ He stops mid sentence, but Sam gets what he is asking.  
“Not too long. Don’t worry.”  
Dean nods.  
“How did this happen anyway?”, Sam wonders.  
“Dumb-guy Ward broke my saltline. Moved to repair it, but the bastard was already inside the circle. ‘Wasn’t fast enough.” Dean sighs. “Did you torch him?”  
“Yeah. He won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”  
“Good.”  
There is a short silence.  
“Do you need anything?”, Mary asks, breaking it.  
“Yeah”, Dean huffs, “Coffee. Black. Like, a gallon of it. And proper clothes. And let’s get out of here.”  
Sam chuckles. “Yeah let’s do that.”

They made short process and Dean released himself from the hospital. Not what the doctors wanted, but they didn’t give a damn.  
When they arrive back at the bunker, they all agreed, that a little relaxation wouldn’t be bad for them. A little time to recover.  
Cas waits for them in the bunker. Mary was able to reach him and hour before Dean woke up. The angel has written worry all over his face and apologised for not being on the phone. He wants to check on Dean and Sam, but Dean declines, says that he just needs some time out. No arguing would change that, so Castiel stops pushing.  
To be honest Sam is or was a little pissed that the angel wouldn’t answer his phone, but he was also a little worried.  
Sam learned to adapt to the angels habits of vanishing from time to time. He has always been this way, since the first day he met him and even after he lost his wings, so this situation wasn’t too unusual. Especially given the circumstance that Castiel was around and reachable 24/7 when they were searching and saving Dean. Sam actually remembers giving Castiel the advice to take some time off after the salvage operation was done and a few days have passed. The angel has endured much in this time, physically and mentally, that even he, an angel, looked drained. So, when Sam thought things began to settle in again, Sam told Castiel to do something for himself. The hunter technically couldn’t blame him. After all, everything worked out. Dean woke up and that is the most important thing. 

By the time the bunker goes silent and everyone goes to their room, Sam can’t sleep. Too much is swirling around in his head. Too much, he has seen.  
He gets out of his room and into the library, hoping to cool off while reading. Sam isn’t surprised when he sees Dean sitting there too. He isn’t surprised about the bottle of whiskey next to his brother, nor the haunted look on his face. Sam knows.  
“Can’t sleep?”, he asks and sits down in front of Dean.  
“I slept for a whole day. That’s enough for a week”, Dean says jokingly, but with no honesty. His brother waits a bit, but then asks: “Why are you up?”  
“Same reason as you, I guess.”  
Dean nods and takes a sip of whiskey.  
“You wanna talk about it?”, Sam asks, casual, but still with caution.  
Dean lets out a single laugh. “You saw it all, what is there to talk?”  
“I saw your dream. Not the real thing.” Sam takes the bottle of whiskey and takes a sip himself.  
“What’s the difference?” Dean retrieves the bottle from Sam’s possession.  
“There are many. For one, I’m not you, it’s your perspective”, Sam says. The other sighs.  
“What do you want to hear, huh?” Dean shrugs. “It happened. What else is there to say? I’ll have to live with it. Like with everything else.”  
“It doesn’t work that way Dean and you know it”, Sam says, serious facial features expressing his feelings.  
“You live with it. And you never told me”, Dean counters, followed by another sip.  
Sam sighs. “Because I thought the same you are thinking right now and it’s not the right way Dean.”  
His brother just shakes his head. “No.” But Sam doesn’t stop talking.  
“Looking back, I should’ve talked about it. I should’ve. If not about the cage, then about the possession. I should’ve talked about a lot of things. I still should.”  
Dean is still shaking his head. His face is grim.  
“Please Dean”, Sam pleads. He stares intensely at his brother, who stares right back, but eventually gives in and sighs.  
“What am I supposed to talk about huh?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe just tell me what you want, tell me what he did?”, Sam tries, giving his brother an honest and open look.  
“I-“, Dean starts, but stops and takes a deep breath. He obviously still isn’t convinced if he should tell Sam or not. Sam tries to encourage Dean as much as he can with his mannerisms. His brother sees the look in Sam’a face and sighs again. With closed eyes, he begins to speak.  
“He showed me things. Scenarios, memories. Sometimes I wasn’t aware of the possession. Sometimes, I would forget about it. Sometimes I knew. And sometimes he’d come and talk to me. But mostly, he just left me alone, which was worse.”  
Sam listens carefully.  
“He’d been digging around. He knew all my fears, all my regrets, everything.  
What he did, he didn’t call it torture. ‘Said, torture was what Lucifer does. He called it ‘Mindgames’. As if that makes it any better. Damn bastard.”  
Dean takes sip. Another deep breath fills his lungs.  
“And when I asked him why he doesn’t just show me people I care about get hurt, because that’s what they all do and that’s what I’m most afraid of, he says ‘No. Because that would be too simple.’”  
Dean scoffs. “Of course he did that too, just not only that.”  
Sam sees his brother struggle in the chair opposite to him. It hurts to watch it.  
“He began digging up every god forsaken thing I thought I had pushed down, everything I thought I had forgotten, everything I thought I’d dealt with, everything that is still bugging me every single day.”  
Dean’s grip around the bottle tightens. His knuckles become white at the pressure and Sam is afraid the bottle might shatter in Dean’s hand.  
“And he left me alone in a big hole of nothing for what felt like weeks or month or years! Without anything. Nothing.”  
Dean sniffs and rubs his nose.  
“You remember that time we were under lockdown in that high security prison?”, his brother asks. Sam nods.  
“Worse”, Dean says, “It’s being isolated from everything.”  
The other was not yet finished.  
“He’d tease me, force his ideals on me, compare you and me to Lucifer and him. He would ignore all my answers. There was no talking back. I was completely powerless. It was humiliating.”  
The bottle wanders to Dean’s lips again, but shaking in his hands, for they tremble while he tells his story.  
“Somewhere, at some point in there, I just gave up. I lost it.”  
The image of Dean in the last room crosses Sam’s mind again. That must have been it. In that void, in that nothingness.  
Dean shakes his head while he drinks and drinks.  
“Enough of that now”, Sam says and takes the bottle out of his brother’s hands, not with force. He sets it aside and watches the other put his forehead on his hands, leaning on them.  
What Dean says matches up with all Sam has seen inside his brothers dream. And if Dean really has all of this going on inside him right now, Sam has trouble thinking of something that would make it easier for him.  
“Is there anything I can do?”, he asks.  
“Was there something I could’ve done for you at that time?”, Dean asks right back.  
Sam is startled for a second, but then sighs and shakes his head, counting as a ‘no’.  
“It’s enough that I told you all this, that you saw all this. Knowing you, you’ll probably worry about it all the time.” Dean sighs for the hundredth time. “You shouldn’t do that Sammy. You have enough to worry about already.”  
“There is always space to worry about family. It wouldn’t be family of there wasn’t.”  
They both stay silent for a moment after that. Sam knows Dean agrees and just lets the words sink in.  
“You know”, Dean says, breaking the silence, “That sounded a lot like Bobby. Our Bobby.”  
Something like a smile sneaks on Dean’s face, not quite a full one, but he is getting there. Sam can’t help but smile at that too.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
This time, the following silence seems kind of peaceful. Well, as peaceful as the situation allows.  
“Think you can get some sleep?”, Sam asks his brother, being the one breaking the silence this time.  
“I can try”, Dean says in response. Sam nods.  
They both stand up. Sam dismisses his brother with a gentle punch on the shoulder and they part ways in their respective directions.  
It would take a lot of time for Dean to recover, Sam knows. He also knows, that it won’t ever be completely gone. He still feels Lucifer invading his thoughts sometimes, still feels the cold in his body. Dean will too. But Sam will be there. He will be there to help, just as Dean was for him. The older may not know it, but he has always been a rock in Sam’s rapid river. The biggest, most stable rock. There, throughout all the fear and sorrows, even the fights. And Sam will be that for him too.

**Author's Note:**

> So that’s it. That’s the end of ‘Mindgames’. This was a lot of fun to write and now, lets see what really happens in Season 14! My job is done, I hope you enjoyed and happy Season 14 premiere ya’ll!
> 
> Also, sorry for the lack of Castiel, but I really didn’t know how to integrate him in this story.


End file.
